


Blood Diamonds

by gegenmeinenwillen



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1940s, Action/Adventure, Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Con Artists, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, France (Country), Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Paris (City), thieves, unlucky thieves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:54:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29564301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gegenmeinenwillen/pseuds/gegenmeinenwillen
Summary: April 1940. Arlberg-Orient Express. One night. One meeting in a restaurant car, and after this the lives of three people changed. Each of them had a bright future ahead of them, but... But not everything is so simple. Everyone has their own dark secrets. And in the meantime, the world has split, and disaster is inexorably approaching.





	1. First Meet

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Blood Diamonds](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/763332) by Gegen Meinen Willen. 



The Arlberg-Orient Express had just left Calais and was making its leisurely way to Paris. There were a lot of people in the cars of different classes, some of them were going to Paris, some to Zurich, some to Budapest, and some to Bucharest. Surprisingly, the dining car was still empty, only two people were sitting at a table near the window. 

The first was a young man in his mid-twenties, wearing dark trousers, a light shirt, and a beige leather vest, and he has a terrible accent. The second was a middle-aged man in an old, shabby gray suit. 

There was no one else in the car, so they talked to each other calmly. They speak in English.

“Do you really believe that?” The man in the jacket asked. “Do you believe that all this is... true? Do you believe that this necklace really belonged to the Romanov royal family?”

“Believe me,” the young man smiled, taking a sip of wine from his glass, “the person who told me about this won't lie.”

“So...” the man swallowed nervously and loosened his tie a little, “you ... you're going to…”

“Yes, I'm going to steal a diamond necklace that once belonged to the Russian Royal family,” the young man said boldly, lifting his chin proudly.

“Hush!” the man shushed him, looking around. “Why the hell did you yell like that?”

“There is nothing what or, more precisely, nobody who I should be afraid of here,” the young man chuckled. 

The second man looked around the empty car and swallowed nervously, shrugging his shoulders. He understood that his companion is right.

“See. Make up your mind.”

“So... What's the price of this whole thing? I mean, it's not like stealing an apple from the market. All this should cost a lot of money.”

“Oh,” the young man smiled, “you're so greedy, my friend. Obscenely greedy. Don't worry, there's a decent amount of money set up for this whole deed. So... What did you say? You'll definitely have enough money to get away from here to some warm place.”

The man paused, calculating something in his mind and fidgeting nervously with the lapel of his jacket. The young man, watching him closely, took another sip of wine from his glass. The cheap wine was disgustingly sour, so he winced after every sip, but he kept drinking. He knew that after he had done this job, he would be able to afford any wine he wanted.

“A tempting offer?” The young man said cheerfully.

“Yeah, it’s very, very tempting,” the man muttered, rubbing his neck nervously. “But... To rob a jewelry store?”

“No, of course no,” the young man said, shaking his head. he looked at him reproachfully. “How could you even think of such a thing?”

“Pawn shop?”

“No, no.”

“Then how?”

“One person will have the necklace. This man will be coming to Paris any day now and stay at a hotel. But it doesn't matter where yet. So, all we have to do is sneak into his room and…”

The young man suddenly stopped talking. He was distracted by a strange noise that came from the corner of the car, where there was a table with a lamp turned off. It even seemed to him that something moved there.

“Okay, okay,” the man nodded. “Just want to ask- ”

“Then ask!” The young man winked at him and stood up. 

He knew that no one could be in that corner. They had been sitting there almost since the departure from Calais, and no one else had entered the restaurant yet. But he must check.

“Why did you offer me this job? If it was negotiated with you, and the price is as good as you said, then... Why do you need me?”

“Oh,” sighed the young man, slowly approaching the table, “my dear friend, how am I going to do it without your help? You are a professional in it. Besides, I want to help you. You don't want to go back to— ”

Before he could finish, the door suddenly opened, and a waiter appeared on the threshold. The young man stopped, looking in surprise at the waiter who had come so at the wrong time.

“Puis je vous aider?” he asked helpfully.

"Non," the young man replied and sighed. He was still trying to convince himself that it was just nerves playing out, and no one was there. Then he added: “Monsieur Morel, I think we must go! Let's go back to our compartment.”

They walked to the compartment in silence because it was dangerous to talk in the corridors, where anyone could overhear them. So, it was only when they returned to their two-person compartment and closed the door behind them that they were able to continue their conversation.

“May I ask you one more question?” the man asked, huddled in a corner by the window, where a fresh pillow in a white pillowcase lay. While the two friends were sitting in the dining car, the stewards had prepared their compartments, and bed linen was neatly spread out on the sofas.

“Ask it, my friend,” the young man nodded to him, settling comfortably in the opposite seat. He placed a pillow under his back and crossing his legs, then nodded him again.

“Who is the customer of it?”

“One man.”

“Can you tell me more? I wouldn't want to be left with nothing later… And I don't really want to work for any... you know, Nazis either.”

“I'm sorry,” the young man sighed, “but I really don't know. He gave me his last name, but I'm sure it's a fake. What the hell difference does it make? He promised to pay, so… I don't care who he is, it's all about his money.”

“But— ”

“What, Bernie, what?” The young man chuckled. “Do you think he can fool us? Trust me, he won't want to lose the royal's necklace.”

“What does it even look like?” The man asked in a whisper.

“I don't know exactly. Everything I know that there are twenty small diamonds and more than ten big diamonds. Do you understand, Bernie?” The young man laughed. “More than thirty diamonds!”

As he laughed, his friend, Bernie, leaned back against the wall, clutching a pillow, his breath catching in his throat as he imagined the amount of money he would get for this necklace.

The young man stopped laughing abruptly. He distracted by a strange noise from outside. It was as if the floor creaked right in front of their door. The young man even thought that he heard someone sighed loudly.

“One more question,” the second man said, finally coming to his senses. “I hate to ask, but I have to. How— how are we going to split our money if we manage to do what you suggested?”

“My friend, you know," began the young man, rising without a sound from his seat and already standing directly in front of the door.

“What? What is it?” The man asked nervously, still waiting for answer.

“Do you know,” the young man continued, slowly putting his hand on the doorknob, “do you know that we are being eavesdropped on in the worst possible way!”

At the same time, he yanked the door open. At this moment, the train, as if on purpose, jerked, so the human who had been standing on the other side of the door, leaning their ear against it, clearly did not expect this and, losing their balance, fell into the compartment. The impudent human would have been waiting for a meeting with the hard floor, if not the powerful hands of the young man, which he somehow accidentally, purely mechanically put forward, releasing the door handle. He looked at the sudden visitor still in his arms, surprised, and said softly:

“Do you know that eavesdropping— ”

“Let me go now!” A dissatisfied but pleasant voice reached him.

The young man, unexpectedly obeying the order, put the guest on her feet, closed the compartment door and stared at the young woman. The man who was still sitting at the table looked at her in silence with no less surprise.

“Honey, what are you doing here?” the young man asked, coming to his senses, and trying to take control of the situation.

“Yeah,” Bernie said, looking equally surprised.

“What difference does it make to you?” the girl asked, running a hand through her hair.

The young man slowly walked around the young woman, trying to get a better look at her. A short black dress with white polka dots and shoes with a small heel. Her shoulder-length dark brown hair was neatly styled. But most of all, the young man liked the lovely and tanned face of the guest with an extremely open and cheerful expression, like a fox's face. Her amber-tinged brown eyes narrowed slyly at him, waiting for his next speech. “And the girl,” he noted to himself, “is not a bad one.”

“What's the difference?” Trying to remain calm, the young man asked. “You have stumbled into our compartment, my dear. So— ”

“You have seen the train lurch, haven't you? I couldn't keep on my feet, and you just threw open the door of your compartment at this moment, so I fell here,” she explained, looking boldly into his face. “My apologies.”

“My dear, do you even know who in the compartment you fell on so brazenly?” The young man said indignantly, looking up from his contemplation of the girl's tanned legs. Without waiting, he answered his own question for her: “This man is going to Berlin to perform a very important operation!” 

Then he noticed that the man at the table was about to protest, and quickly noted: “I don't think you need to be told what organization he's from. That's all you need to know. You'd better leave now or— ”

“Or what?” interrupting him, the girl chuckled and smiled.

“Pardon me?” The young man choked on his breath. “If the thought of an agent sent to Berlin doesn't frighten you, I'm sorry for you. Still, it's time for you to go. Don't interfere with a very, very important operation.”

The girl, folding her arms, looked around the compartment, stopped for a couple of seconds at the still frozen man and his old suit, then looked at the young man standing in front of her, grinned and quickly began to speak in German. The man, hearing the German speech, was even more set on it, not noticing how his lower jaw slowly went down against his will.

“Just as I thought,” the girl grinned contentedly, looking straight at the frozen man.

“What the— ” Bernie with his eyes wide jumped up from his seat in outrage.

“And I don't remember since when the Germans started cooperating with the Americans.”

“This deviless is smart,” the young man thought. “I noticed it since the very first moment. Damn accent! I need to say goodbye to her as soon as possible before she messes up everything for me.”

“What?!” the man choked on air from indignation.

The young man motioned for him to sit down. 

“Keep calm, friend,” he said. “And for you, my dear, I think it's time to go. Say goodbye to the agent. Au revoir! Adiós!” 

The young man started to push her toward the door.

“Do you know,” she started to speak, “that I was too in the dining-car and heard everything, and your necklace is almost is mine?”

Bernie groaned quietly and sank back into his seat. The young man froze. He realized what hands made of iron had seized him by the throat.

The girl, with a sickly-sweet grin, took a couple of steps forward, sat down on the empty sofa opposite the pale man, and asked: “Well, now what, gentlemen?"

“Oh, you’re a devil,” the young man said through gritted teeth, approaching the table. It was clearly not his plan to take anyone else with him. “Well, Bernie, shall we... take her with us? I don't see any other way out.”

“Is there no other way out?” The man moaned plaintively, loosening his tie even more.

“This young lady,” the young man looked at the girl and smiled at her as if he is ready to strangle her at any second, “heard too much, so… We are powerless. If we don't take her, she'll just find the right person in Paris and steal the necklace by herself. Am I right?”

“Right,” the girl agreed, nodding, “absolutely right.”

“But she doesn't know who the customer is!” Bernie exclaimed, and grinned triumphantly.

“That's not a problem,” the young man shrugged. “It is easy to sell it to some collector of jewelry. And they're pretty easy to find, believe me. Even there, in Paris. So, my friend... We have no choice.”

“There's no way out,” Bernie mimicked him, looking down at the floor.

The young man patted him reassuringly on the shoulder and, glancing at the girl, added: “Congratulations, you're in.”

“Good,” the girl smiled even more and, holding out her hand to the young man, said, “I'm Marion.”

“John Smith,” he said, gently shaking the woman's hand. “Can I get your last name?”

“Well,” the girl grinned and gave him a conspiratorial wink, “it's Menteur.”

“And the real one?”

“That's enough for now.”

“Well,” John said, and nodded at Bernie, who is pouting, “this is my partner and former cellmate, Bernard Morel.”

Marion wanted to greet him too, but he chuckled, turned away from her, and stared out the window.

“And what do you want from this deal?” John asked, sitting down on the sofa next to Marion.

“Twenty percent,” she said quickly.

John pursed his lips dramatically: “It’s almost forty thousand dollars.”

Bernie felt sick at that moment.

“I don't need any more,” Marion said, shrugging her shoulders.

John clapped his hands together. 

“I originally planned to split the entire amount equally between Bernie and me,” Smith said, “but since you're in too... I'll get half of it. You, young lady, will get twenty percent. And for you, my friend, what's left.”

“Wait a moment!” Bernie protested. “It's my money! John, you were the first to offer me this case, so why the hell should I share my share with a— This is a truly robbery!”

“How much do you think to offer me?” Marion raised her eyebrows and looked at him curiously.

“We aren't going to offer you a damn thing,” the Frenchman muttered through clenched teeth. “John, I suggest we just tell her to go to hell. All her words about being able to trick us are nothing. She's lying. So, let's get her out of here right now.”

“Maybe you want something else?” Marion is unhappy with her hands crossed on her chest.

“I want you to get the hell out of here right now,” Bernie said, clearly pleased with what he had said.

“Oh well,” Marion said confidently, getting up from the sofa. “I have some many reasons to believe that I can handle your case alone.” 

Then she noticed John's puzzled look on her face, and immediately corrected herself: “That the two of us can handle your case. Is that right, John?”

“Brave and bold,” John said, grinning. “I kind of like it.”

“You rascal!” Bernie shouted from his seat. He really did not like the fact that the two of them had met a couple of minutes ago, and already worked so well together.

Marion, noticing that John motioned for her to sit down back, sat down on the edge of the sofa and continued: “You can't do it in Paris without me. You need my help.”

“We don't want anything from you,” Bernie said.

“I wouldn't jump to conclusions,” the girl smiled gently. “The American,” she said, nodding toward John, “probably doesn't know the map of Paris at all. And you... You don't really look like a local crime star, so you're definitely not from Paris, my dear Bernard.”

“What makes you think I don't know the city? I know all these streets like the back of my hand! I bet; you don't know the whole city too.”

“Don't worry, I know the city perfectly, I was born there. And if you want to prove to me that I'm wrong about you, then tell me, how can I get to the Moulin Rouge? By the avenue de la Bourdonnais or avenue Charles Floquet?”

“By the second,” Bernie said after a moment.

“So, we found out,” Marion said, grinning. “None of it leads to Moulin Rouge. Both avenues are near the Eiffel Tower. See, no one knows Paris as well as I do. Of the two of you, anyway. So... you can't do this without me.”

Then it occurred to Bernard that these two had known each other for a long time. And maybe, this eavesdropping scene at the door was clearly planned.

“She's already got it all figured out,” Smith said with a mirthless grin. “Smart girl. I think she deserves twenty percent. At least because of— ”

“Yeah, twenty percent,” Bernie said mockingly, before John could explain exactly why Marion deserved that percentage. “And what's about our grub? I'm not going to share it with her. Do what you want, John, but I'm against it.”

“Well,” sighed Marion, “I wish you wouldn't be so sorry for your share. I agree to work for fifteen percent.”

“Do you have any idea what that amount of money is?” Bernie shouted, jumping up from his seat.

“What's the point of accuracy?” Mary smiled sweetly.

The bidding continued. John relented. He, out of respect for Morel's personality, agreed to work out of forty-five percent. Bernard was also entitled to forty-five percent, and Marion, who had been watching the men in silence for most of the time, only occasionally joining in the conversation, agreed to ten percent.

“John, can you imagine how much money we've lost?” Bernie shouted.

“You are a quite vulgar man,” said Marion, “and you love money more than you should.”

“You don't like money, do you?” the Frenchman howled. “Say you decided to help us for a simple ‘thank you’ and you won't demand any more gratitude?!”

“I don't like it,” the girl said calmly.

“Why do you need ten percent?”

“Because of principle!”

Bernie rolled his eyes and sank down on the pillow to catch his breath.

“So, do we have a deal?” John asked. 

Morel puffed and said obediently: “Agreed.”

Mary smiled with satisfaction and asked: “May I ask, do you have any plan?”

“Marion,” John looked into the girl's eyes, licked his lips, and after a moment of silence, asked: “Marion, can I call you just Mary?”

He doesn't have a plan yet.

“Why are you Americans so arrogant and vulgar,” Marion sneered.

“It's not like you Frenchmen: we've only known each other for a couple of minutes, and you, my dear, have already climbed into my bed.”

“Incredibly arrogant,” the girl sighed. “So, what’s about the plan?”

“What’s about the name?”

“As you wish.”

“Brilliant! Tell me about yourself, Mary,” Smith said, smiling pleasantly. He deliberately tried to delay the time and confuse the girl, so as not to answer her question.

“I don't think it would be interesting,” she said quietly.

“Why not?” He sat down more comfortably, resting his elbow on his knee, and resting his chin on his fist. “I've known Bernie for a long time. And I know nothing about you.”

“No, John. Maybe later.”

“Oh, come on, Mary. Tell me, at least, how did you tan so good in London? It's spring… Or it's so sunny in Calais?”

“Then, John, can you tell me how you and your friend managed to get on this train? Huh?” she retorted. John considerably retired to the background. “You yourself accidentally mentioned that Bernard is your cellmate. And something tells me that you were released not so long ago… So, where did you get the money for the Arlberg-Orient Express?”

“I think it's our little secret, Mary,” John said calmly. He wanted to ask her the same question, but after a quick glance at her and assessing her appearance, he realized that it was pointless to ask, she definitely had money.

“Yeah, your little secret. And that poor old man you robbed so brazenly at the train station.”

John, trying to keep a neutral expression on his face, mentally wanted to strangle her. He did not particularly like the situation that another person as cunning and intelligent as himself appeared in their company.

“So why the hell are you asking if you already know everything?” Bernard roared, jerking up from the pillow.

“Take it easy, my friend,” Mary said softly. “You don't want a steward rushing in here at the noise, and then accidentally discovering that the tickets aren't yours at all, and— ”

“If she doesn't shut up right now, John, I promise,” Bernie hissed, “I'll kill her. I'll strangle her with my bare hands.”

“Okay, Bernie, take it easy,” John said quickly, and motioned for him to stay on his place. Turning to the girl, he added: “And you, my dear, I will ask you to leave us. Or Bernie really won't keep his word.”

“Well, I can really leave you for a while,” Mary nodded and got up from her seat. “You can't escape from the train anyway. I'll be in the compartment at the end of this car and I'll hear everything from there, because I'm definitely not going to sleep. Good night, my friends. I'll meet you at the Gare du Nord.”

“Good night,” Smith said as politely as he could, taking her elbow and helping her out of the compartment.

When the girl had left the compartment, and John was about to close the door behind her, Mary suddenly turned around and held out her hand to Smith. When he gently took her hand in his again, Mary pulled him to her with a sharp movement and said softly, so that only he could hear her:

“And don't even think of deceiving me, John Smith. If you dare to run away and try to deceive me, I promise you that you will never see the necklace or your freedom again, and neither will your friend. You'll regret it a thousand times.”

“Oh, come on,” John sighed, feeling the girl's firm grip.

Mary glared at him, grinned, let go of Smith's hand, walked to the end of the corridor, and locked herself in one of the last compartments.

“Why did you take her?” Bernie howled as he finally waited for the girl to leave.

“There was no other way out,” John sighed, still standing at the door, and looking at the end of the corridor. “You underestimate her.”

“Jesus, John, you don't know a damn thing about her! She's a simple liar and a con artist. We don't need her.”

“Don't need her, you say,” after making sure that Mary will not be back and that there was no one in the hallway, Smith closed the door and returned to his seat. “She knows the streets, and that might play into our hands.”

“How do you know that? She could have just tricked us by saying that. I don't believe her.”

“Never mind, we'll find out in Paris. You,” he nodded at the table where the map was, “take the map, pick out a couple of... well, at least restaurants, remember their addresses, and then ask her to take us there. We’ll let her come with us, help us in some places… Yes, I have already found a good role for her. And then we'll say her ‘goodbye’. That's all, my dear Bernie.”

“But we're losing five percent each because of it.”

“Don't worry about the money,” John chuckled as he lay back on his couch. “Or did you really think she'd get our money?”

Bernard stared at John, waiting tensely. But John closed his eyes and did not seem to answer, pretending that he had not heard Morel's last words. He knew what his own plans were for the money, and who would get what share…

“Are you going to,” Bernie whispered nervously, “trick her? You'll leave her with nothing, won't you? John, answer me!”

“We'll continue this conversation for later,” Smith said. “You get my point. And now we'll go to sleep.”

Smith have not slept that night. He couldn't get over the fact that there are three of them in the case now, and he didn't know a damn thing about this Marion Menteur...  
It changed all his plans.


	2. Arriving in Paris

The sun was just beginning to rise above the horizon, slowly touching everything that was at the station. Bernard, standing on the platform, looked towards the departing train, and yawned lazily — he was not at all happy about such an early rise.

John, who unlike his friend had not slept all night, but had drink coffee, picked up a bag with his belongings from the paved platform. His eyes darted over this and the other platforms, searching for Marion, hoping that she had not left the train after all, having fallen asleep during the night.

“Why the hell are we still standing here?” Bernie spread his hands. He did not have anything with him.

“Yeah—” Smith began to speak and then stopped. He realized that standing on the platform and waiting for a girl who was depriving them both of five percent is stupid. “Nothing, Bernie, nothing… Let's go before she comes.”

Before John could even take a step forward, he had just turned around when he almost collided with Mary, who was glaring at him with pursed lips. John's hopes were dashed in an instant.

She shook her head reproachfully and clicked her tongue a couple of times.

“We were just looking for you,” John said, smiling pleasantly.

“Don't try to disarm me with your smile, cowboy,” she chuckled, taking a step back. “It doesn't work on me.”

Bernie chuckled and walked on in silence, heading for the train station exit. The girl, looking at him, beckoned John to follow her, and followed Morel. Smith, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder, caught up with Mary and quickly asked:

“A cowboy? Why is that?”

“Offended by the nickname?” She smiled but did not even look at him.

“No, I just want to know why.”

Mary have not answered him, and John was clearly offended by the nickname “cowboy” and demanded an apology from her. But the girl, with only a faint smile at the corners of her lips, looked at him with condescension, and still did not apologize, not even considering it necessary to answer him.

Very soon, the three stopped at the door of the train station, not knowing what to do next. Mary stood behind these two, silently waiting for any suggestions from the men. But neither John nor Bernard knew what to do or where to go.

“Where are you planning to stay?” the girl finally asked, deciding to break the long silence.

“It's none of your business,” Bernie snapped.

“I need to make a phone call,” John said, looking around. “Where's the phone here?”

“The nearest one is in the station building, near the ticket office,” Mary told him. “But you need to pay for a call.”

John swore softly, kicking the curb in anger. Now, until he will call, he is helpless and does not know what to do. Bernie, watching him, moved a little to one side and lit a cigarette.

John rummaged in his pockets, found a couple of coins, and asked him to wait. After all, he liked London much better because there were phone box on every corner.

“Yes?” a dry voice came over the phone.

“It's me, John. I have arrived in Paris. What should I do next?”

“The man will arrive in Paris the day after tomorrow. Find a place somewhere and keep your head down.”

“Where do I look for him when he arrives?”

“Call me the day after tomorrow at morning and I'll tell you.”

“Any more instructions?”

“Try not to make attention to yourself,” and the voice silents.

John hung up the phone and grinned. It was all he had expected to hear.

“Any news?” Bernie asked John as he approached them.

“Nothing yet. The man is coming the day after tomorrow, so we need somewhere to stay…”

“So where are you planning to stay?” Mary repeated her earlier question.

“We could have stayed in a hotel,” John said, “but to find the cheapest one here... and that's almost impossible in Paris.”

“There are very few cheap hotels here, namely only one. And I can't go to the hotel for a... technical reasons,” the girl sighed. “You know, my face is already familiar in this city, so even fake documents are unlikely to help here.”

“And why women are nothing but trouble,” Smith sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”

“What if--” Mary paused thoughtfully.

“Go on,” Bernard said impatiently. “Honey, you're either moving into a hotel with us, or we're going to have to say good-bye.”

Hearing this, John realized that Bernie had done it for nothing. Marion could take offense at his words and take revenge by finding the diamonds first. And then they would not have said goodbye to her, but to the diamonds.

“You asked us twice where we were going to stay,” said Bernard nervously, smoking another cigarette. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“Yes,” Marion said firmly, immediately catching Smith's interested gaze, “but…”

“So why we are waiting?” John cried, jumping up to her. “Lead the way, madame!”

Mary smiled slyly and narrowed her eyes slyly. At the same time, John's eyes flashed with a burst of annoyance. 

“I'll take you there on one condition.”

“Which one?”

The girl paused expectantly, looking at Bernard, who was smoking to the side, and who was not paying any attention to them. John, catching her eye, immediately understood and shouted:

“Bernie, drop your cheap tobacco!”

“Why would I?” The man blew a stream of smoke from his nose and, after a quick glance at his friend, grinned.

“Bernie, I remind you,” John lowered his voice and moved closer to Bernie, “time is money. The faster we stop somewhere, and the faster I get to the phone, the faster ... Our dearest companion has agreed to provide us with an apartment, so tell me, why the hell are we still standing at the train station?!”

Bernie, smoking his cigarette, looked carefully at his friend, who was beginning to get nervous, and asked in a way that not only John but Mary could hear:

“Tell me, how do you know she's not lying?” He blew smoke in John’s face. “How do you know she won't take us to some God-forsaken alley and kill us?”

John's face fell. The accusation was fair — in the pursuit of free money, he forgot about simple precautions.

“I can assure you,” Mary glanced at them both in turn, but her gaze was still fixed on Bernard, who was trying not to even look in her direction, “that I won't hurt you." I need your help, don't I? So, you can trust me.”

Bernie, taking a last drag, finally looked at the girl and grinned.

“I think he agrees,” John answered for him.

Mary turned and walked slowly toward the intersection, where several taxis were parked, and said: “Follow me."

“You forgot your luggage, young lady,” Bernie said, laughing softly. “Or did you send him on a train ride?”

“My luggage has been waiting for me in the taxi for a long time. We'll go together. And I'll pay this time. For the first and last time. And yes, Monsieur Morel, before you smoke yourself, you must offer a cigarette to the woman — do not forget about decency.”

“I promise,” Bernie whispered, walking beside John, “that I'll kill her myself after all. You don't know how itchy my hands are already, John…”

“And you,” the girl in front of them suddenly spoke, turning her head slightly to the side so that she could see the men out of the corner of her eye, “have no idea how good my hearing is!”

Bernard started to say something sharp, but Smith nudged him in the side, frowned, shook his head, and winked at him afterward. He was in complete agreement with Bernard.  
In the taxi, Bernie, who was sitting next to the driver, asked to break the long silence:

“And where are you taking us, mon chéri?”

“Mieux vaut tard que jamais,” laughed Mary. And then, she speaks in English, “I thought you would never speak French ever... or is that your whole vocabulary, Monsieur Morel?”

“I'm a French,” he said, “so do you think can I speak French or not?”

“And what's waiting for us where you're taking us?” John asked the girl, trying to reduce the brewing conflict to nothing.

“You'll see,” Mary said, smiling, and then, turning to John, “You'll have to do some work, though…”

“What do you mean?” Smith asked warily.

“You'll find out, John. You'll find out soon enough.”

“Are there always so many mysteries around you?” John sighed.

“More than you think.”

“I rather like it.”

“No wonder.”

“I think there are more words here,” said Bernard, who was very annoyed at the way his friend was trying to flirt with this girl. “Simple as a stool…”

“Well, as you say,” Mary shrugged. “It is true, Monsieur Morel, that people are not judged by themselves.”

“How dare—” he choked on his breath in outrage.

“Take it easy, my friends,” John said, raising his voice, trying to reconcile the two. “Let's at least take a taxi safely… And then you'll have a fight.”

Twenty minutes later, the three of them were standing at the entrance to one of the old houses. John, who had hoped for something more, looked around the shabby facade in frustration.

“What's waiting for us there?” John asked with a sigh, looking at the girl.

“And now the most interesting part of it,” Mary said with a sly smile. “This is your finest hour, John.”

“I'm all ears.”

“There is one mistress in this house, Madame Caroit, a widow. She rents out apartments here…”

“You seem to have forgotten, ma'am,” Bernie said, “that we are limited in money and generally suffer from a lack of it.”

“Patience, my friend,” she smiled softly. “John will take care of that.”

“I don't think he's going to get a lot of money all of a sudden,” Morel snorted.

“So do I,” Mary nodded slightly, then turned to John and said: “You don't know that, but Madame Caroit is very fond of young and beautiful people. So, go to her, and the apartment will be yours. Or rather, ours.”

“Seduce a woman?” Smith exclaimed. “Why me?!”

“Look at Monsieur Morel. He certainly doesn't look like a fine young lover, and I don't think Madame Caroit will be interested in him.”

“Mary, you're crazy!”

“Do you see another way out?” She looked at him condescendingly. Then she added casually: “Besides, she's rich…”

John paused. She was right — this is their only chance.

“And then what should we do,” he asked, “when the time comes to pay? I don't think I can give her a nice flutter of my eyelashes and pay her back with this.”

“You say it like you're going to stay here for at least a month. Don't forget that we're only here for a couple of days.”

John, having weighed everything and sighed heavily, moved to the entrance.

Smith returned about fifteen or twenty minutes later. He looked exhausted. Picking up his bag, he helped Mary with her suitcase, which was surprisingly light. He did all this in silence.

“So?” Bernard asked.

“Come on, I was success. You, Bernie, are my workmate, and our Mary is my sister, who is in mourning for her husband, who died so suddenly.”

“And was that enough to convince Madame Caroit?” the girl asked, feeling that John was not telling her something.

“I said that I am a young director of a new film that I will shoot in Paris, and the main roles will be played by Marika Rökk and Laurence Olivier, with whom I promised to introduce her on the set.”

Mary laughed. Bernie just grinned in satisfaction.

“And now, my friends,” John sighed, “do not forget our roles. Let's go.”

The three of them went into the front room. At the door, they were immediately met by a fat, middle-aged woman, dressed too provocatively and smiling at John with all her might. This was Madame Caroit.

But the trio did not forget about their roles. Bernard assumed an air of thoughtful gravity, Mary stood with her face down, half covered with a handkerchief, sniffing every now and then, and John smiled as pleasantly as possible at Madame Caroit.

Madame quickly led them to the best four-room apartment in the house, and John, while Marion pretended to wipe the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief, and Bernard followed them in silence, literally alarmed the whole house. At first, he surveyed the most expensive apartment, but was dissatisfied with its furniture. The decor of the two other apartments at an average price pleased him more, but the carpets there were some peelings, and the smell was outraged. The cheapest small apartment in the attic was all right, except for the paintings. But John said that the view from the small window is beautiful, so it suits them perfectly, to get more inspiration, looking at the beautiful views of Paris. In the end, after fifteen minutes, the three of them moved into the apartment using false documents that John had previously made on at the train.

In the evening, when the suitcases were partially unpacked, John donned a garus vest, knocked out his jacket on the headboard, asked Bernard for some change money, and went to visit Madame Caroit. Bernard stayed with Mary, who had taken the bedroom for her own use, but now preferred Morel's company to that of solitude, in the apartment, and in his excitement began to pace from one wall to the other, nervously smoking a cigarette.

“My dear Bernard, calm down,” said Marion, lying on the sofa. She had had enough of the man's indoor activities in the past few minutes. “Don't worry about Smith, he's got everything under control. In any case, he had only gone to arrange a small dinner with Madame, not to sign some important international document.”

Morel ignored her and continued to pace the room. Mary sighed and closed her eyes.

Eventually, in the business-like rooms (the living room had a sofa, a table, two chairs, and a small cot, the bedroom had one small bed and a night table), there was the sound of horses snoring and neighing as Bernard washed his face and cleared his nose, as Smith had made him prepare before the dinner. John was sitting in a chair, his feet boldly propped up on the table. Mary was still lying on the sofa, watching the men.

When the preparations were finished, the men moved to the door. But when John noticed that Mary was following them, he politely asked her to stay in the apartment. Catching a Mary's look that combined surprise, a little resentment, and a lot of anger, he explained:

“You told me that your face is familiar here, so you'd better stay. Keep an eye on the room, so that no one can get into it. And besides, don't forget, Mary: you're in mourning. So what kind of dinners can you go?”

“John Smith, I—” she began unkindly.

“Hush, hush, my dear,” he interrupted. “I promise I'll bring you something to keep you from starving to death. Because I don't want you to die and then there will be your annoying ghost haunting me for the rest of my life.”

Mary gave him an appraising look, chuckled, and said softly:

“Well, well. Good luck. But don't forget your own words. My revenge will be terrible.”

“I won't forget. Don't get bored!” he slammed the door in front of her.

The friends did not return until one hour past midnight. Bernard, who came first, was concerned. John, who arrived about fifteen minutes after Morel, was beaming. He was wearing new shiny shoes, a creamy colored hat, and a Rumanian-colored half-silk scarf. He was holding a small silver tray.

“Madame Caroit sent her regards,” he said, placing a tray on the table in front of her. “She told you to recover from your terrible loss and return to the normal flow of life.”  
“Where did the new stuff come from?” Mary asked, squinting suspiciously at him.

“A gift from a lady in love. What have I to do? I couldn't help but accept it…”

“Madame will want a return gift,” she warned him. ‘Can you pay her back?”

“Don't worry, my dear, I'll take care of the operation. No madam can resist these shoes.”

“What makes you so sure?” The girl's eyes narrowed.

“She showed John her jewelry box while he told her fictional stories from the set,” Morel said for his friend. “So he's got his eye on them.”

“And you, John, are going to steal them from the poor widow?” Mary laughed. “Genius! There are at least two other families living in this house, so it's just stupid, at least…”

“Don't worry,” John fished a small woman's gold watch out of his pocket and waved it in front of the girl's face, “I'll sort this out somehow. What will you say if I say that we'll have a great dinner tomorrow? And not just anywhere, but in the best restaurant in Paris!”

“He's decided to marry her,” Morel said with an embarrassed grunt. “He was talking with this lady about movies and stars that he's going to introduce her to, and that he's going to shoot her in his new movie all night.”

“Well, that's too much,” Mary said with a disappointed sigh.

“What a woman,” John said, “she's a poet's dream. A provincial spontaneity. And anyway, this is our only chance. How can I miss it?”

“You're an idiot…”

“My dear,” Smith said, landing on the sofa beside her and putting his arm around her shoulders, “you said that this is my finest hour. So let me shine.”

“You forget we're here only for a couple of days,” Mary said, casually brushing his hands off her shoulders.

“Well? What if I'm really in love?” he laughed. “You know, people don't argue about other tastes…”

“Well, John, it's your choice,” Marion said, her voice is little bit trembling. “I wish you good luck. And yet you're an idiot.”

“Are you dissatisfied with something?” Smith asked her.

“No, no,” she bit her lip and hurriedly turned away.

Before Mary abruptly got up from the sofa and went into the bedroom without eating her dinner, John saw that her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were bright.… He saw tears in her eyes, though he might have imagined it.

The apartment was quiet for a couple of minutes.

“When is the wedding?” Bernard asked, his voice strained by the sudden silence.

“With the current political situation, it's more sooner than you'd imagine,” John sighed. “She'll go to the priest tomorrow.”

Before Smith could finish, he heard something break in the bedroom with a loud bang. He grinned, knowing exactly what that meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Marika Rökk (3 November 1913 – 16 May 2004) was a Hungarian dancer, singer and actress who gained prominence in German films in the Nazi era.  
> 2) Laurence Kerr Olivier (11 July 1989 - 22 May 1907) was an English actor and director who, along with his contemporaries Ralph Richardson and John Gielgud, was one of a trinity of male actors who dominated the British stage of the mid-20th century.


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